A Bird Without Feathers
by ATG-4835
Summary: Escaping the imprisonment of Asgard and on the run from the Chitauri, Loki only wishes for a place to hide. Unfortunately, after using what little reserve magic he has left, he finds himself physically stuck as a much younger God of Lies. But perhaps this is not so bad. After all, what is more protected and catered to than a child? (Post Avengers, physically de-aged Loki.)
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** A Bird Without Feathers  
**Author:** ATG-4835  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from Marvel. I am just borrowing them for the moment.  
**Author's Note:** A serious take on a semi De-aged Loki story. Takes place Post-Avengers and will be AU from future Marvel films. Explanation of the time between The Avengers and the time of this story's occurrence will be given as the story progresses.

* * *

It was to rain that he woke to.

There was a roaring sound in his ears, as if he had a shell pressed to them and he were listening to the sound of the sea. Roars and echoes and patters all around him and he was spinning inside the sound, lost as he was tossed about from crescendo to peak as the sound faded and consumed and overwhelmed him. His head was throbbing, from what little he could tell of the situation. Not hurting, not exactly, but a throb that was almost deeper than pain could be. His entire face throbbed, in fact.

And there was rain.

He blinked his eyes open.

His world was so very disoriented. His vision was cloudy, surrounded by muted, cold colors. All of them were blurry, out of focus. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Shapes swam into view slowly. Bricks. Many of them, in fact, rising up to meet a dark sky, and he realized he was in a back alley made of the red stones. His mind was swaying from alertness to fog and he gave himself into it for a moment as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

_Falling_.

He recalled the distant sensation of being weightless and, at the same time, so very, very heavy as he plummeted down from the heavens. Gravity was an unpleasant master when it chose to take hold and drag one down. The ground beneath him was cracked and shattered, stones digging into the skin of his cheek.

_Always digging in. With their weapons beyond any weapons imaginable. Pain beyond the most frenzied dreams, and he was screaming, lost in the fog. Screaming for anything. Anyone. Father. Mother, Brother... Thor. Screaming and begging and not himself anymore. Nothing. He was nothing and he was falling away into nothing too..._

Always falling...

He blinked, mind coming back from the distant place he found it wandering in on occasion. Focus. Now was not the time for this. The episode would have to wait for later; he had to move.

Ahh, but his body ached. This was not the first time he had fallen, and he had a feeling (and his feelings rarely led him astray) that it would not be the last time either. It seemed to be something of a habit for him now, to fall between worlds like a chick falls from its nest. Featherless, alone, and unknowing if he will be able to spread his wings and fly.

Fly...

He had been able to do so once. to glide and walk upon the air as if it were solid beneath his feet. To sit on it and feel it support his weight. But no longer. Unfortunately, he felt rather tapped for energy at the moment. Whatever strength he had left had been ripped from him in Asgard, had been torn from him in the fall, and had been used up performing his rather rare bits of magic.

He felt quite tired indeed, but he was as sick of lying here as he was of falling. Best pick himself up and carry on his way...

For a moment, for a long moment, he simply stared at the brick of the wall. The realm of Midgard and he was sprawled in their filthy, degenerate back alley. A God, forced to lie amongst the trash. It was both degrading as it was disgusting and he endeavored to move from the spot as immediately as possible. Such a typically human place; he guessed he was in the city from the amount of grime he could feel cling to his skin.

How fall he had fallen, and not only physically. From a Prince to a King, to a villain, to a... what was he now? He couldn't even tell any longer. So many titles and so many labels. he'd come up with another one as soon as he felt himself able to think properly. At the moment, he wished to be out of the foul, smog-ridden rain and into some sort of shelter.

_Pick yourself up, God of Lies, and meet the day. _

Loki lifted himself, forcing his fatigued, battered body to his elbows and then to his hands and knees. He gasped, his insides seeming to shift around as he attempted to move more. Sweat beaded at his brow and he closed his eyes, panting with exertion. He felt... sick. Sick and so very vulnerable that he almost could feel something similar to fear. Ignore it. Push it from your mind. Concentrate on what you can control and not on what you cannot. Fatigue, pain, injury... they were beyond his reach at the present. However, they were of the mind, and he was his own master.

_Always your own master, King Without a Throne. Never forget that. You are a God and a King, and you belong to no one._

You answer to no one.

Finally, after many long moments of kneeling there, half wheezing with the effort, he finally came to his feet. Standing had taken longer than he would have liked; a trial that had him sneer at himself half-heartedly. Disgusting. Was this what was to become of him? Dripping in polluted rain in a fleshbag's city, stinking of their dirt and trash?

Perhaps he did deserve this. A bitter, choked laugh escaped him as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway. It wasn't merry, it wasn't pleasant. It spoke of insanity, of a madness starting to emerge that he couldn't quite smother. Too long. It had been too long since he had laughed and he felt the sound of it eat at him like a poison...

_Poisontongue, they call you, God of Lies. A Silvertongue. Like a sharp metal dagger slipping into the ribs, deadly and quiet. Thy false-Brother the hammer, blunt and honest. Made for helping fixing, plucking the nails as they burrowed into the wood of Yggdrasil. A loud instrument, echoing and vibrating and shaking the branches and roots. Honorable. A honest work for an honest man. Oh, but not you, Little God. You slip in, the snake in the grass, and you cut the leaves and you slice the branches and you notch the roots. You carve and damage and burrow into the core, dripping and ripping and destroying..._

Would that your mouth be sewn, so you couldn't drip more of your filth and lies...

A laugh escaped him again, a high-pitched, dangerous thing that had him shaking as he stood there.

He needed to get into cover now. His escape would be traced and his false-Brother would come for him, so earnest and just that it was almost sickening to witness.

_But where to find it? Who would take you in? Your face is recognizable, your garments even more so. Go hide, little Godling. Go hide so no one will find you. Hide like the coward you are and the coward you pretend not to be... _

A good suggestion and he took it from his own mind without further thought, pulling himself along the wall of the alley with shaking legs. They barely supported him, they hardly even moved enough to walk. He more shuffled, the meager rags of his clothing sodden and soaked to the bone. His hair fell long in his face, limp and unwashed from the length of his imprisonment. He'd have to get that fixed when he was in a proper state. When his energy came back, when he could feel the magic inside of him...

Right now, he felt so very empty of everything except exhaustion...

The fury of Asgard was not the only thing hunting him. Now that he was out of chains and into the wild, it would be open season to track him down. The Chitauri had not forgotten his failure, nor would they ever. Not until punishment had been served.

_'If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can not find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.'_

The words rang in his mind, clear as a bell, and he found himself shaking violently, a barking sound in his throat. Fear. It coursed through his veins and the sense of urgency forced his legs forward again. Desperation. He had no choice, no options, no anything. All he had to do right now was gain shelter and rest. Rest until he could figure out his next move. Rest until his body wasn't so weak...

A shape ahead, and he stumbled as the wall ended, finding himself on his own without the much-needed support. Not good at all and a hoarse wheeze of anxiety escaped his chapped lips. His green eyes, dull with exhaustion, flickered up at the skyline that was now visible. Even in the rain, it was recognizable. New York City. How... typical.

"Bara heppni mína að ég ætti að enda á stað sem hatar mig..." He gave another pant and stepped forward. There were a large pile of dark objects ahead of him, tall and with platforms. He supposed he could take shelter beneath them for the moment, just until this horrid rain passed him by and he had a chance to gain control of himself.

He had to duck to fit beneath the platform and he sat down roughly, leaning back against a pole. Shelter from the rain-

A drip on his face and he glanced up at the roof. The storming sky was visible through the scattering of holes in it. His expression deadened, lips quirking down and eyes going dark. What roof of a shelter would have holes to allow in the wetness? What sort of shelter was this at all?

A poor one, obviously, and he rolled to his knees. Not five feet from him was a small tunnel. A small but dry tunnel and inched forward without a thought. It was too small for him, but how he longed to find a spot to sleep off, to curl up like a bird in a nest and dry off until the sun shown.

A wave of nausea hit him suddenly and he gagged heavily, crawling into the tunnel that now seemed to accommodate him. He didn't spare it any mind, he didn't notice it at all. All he noticed was now he felt better. The rags weighing him down here sluggishly kicked off and he curled up on the smooth dry surface of the tunnel, closing his eyes.

And the God of Lies slept soundly.

* * *

"Son?

He blinked his tired eyes open as the light shone into his eyes. For a moment, he was about to say something scathing, to snarl and sneer and insult whoever dare wake him up from his sleep. He was a God. However long he wished to sleep was however long he would sleep and it was as simple as that. The nerve of anyone to change this...

But when he blinked, a flash of light caught his eye. A small metal shield on the man's shirt. Police. This was one of the Midgardian protectors then, a law enforcer. He knew that they had superiors, and that those superiors had superiors. And somewhere in the mix, far down the line, S.H.E.I.L.D had their grubby, greedy little fingers into the Police-pot too.

Loki said nothing and simply stared, waiting for the officer to make his move. Instead of slapping metal shackles on him, as he had expected, the man knelt and wore an expression of severe concern.

"Hey, kiddo..." The man said softly, eyes kind and gentle, and Loki furrowed his brow in confusion at the endearment. It was not one he had heard before, although he was not so accustomed to Midgardian slang. It had been far easier when the lot of the fleshbags had been grunting slobs eating hunks of raw beast and carving wooden boats. Far easier to communicate and dazzle them into submission.

He didn't understand, however. The mortal did not know him, couldn't possibly be endeared to him, and yet, that expression was one of tender kindness. Loki raised felt a frown tug at his lips.

"Can you understand me, kiddo?" That name again, and the tone was something one would say to a child. Insulted, he was about to open his mouth to complain of the derogatory treatment when he became aware of where he was.

The tunnel, in the light from the hand-held torch the man had, was a bright blue, made of a smooth material he recognized as plastic. There were carvings on the inside, made with some crude blade. LuCuS luvs AmEE' was spelled out in a mix of capitalized and lowercase letters, the middle word misspelt completely. It was a sloppy handwriting and he realized that he was in a child's toy. A playground, he knew them to be called. A place where Midgardian children came to scream and run about like headless chickens.

He glanced down at himself and froze.

Oh.

That did certainly explain it, and he almost laughed at how long it had taken him to notice. He was being spoken to as if he were a child because he currently _was_ a child. A young one, by the looks of his legs. They were thin, but very short, still retaining a hint of the babyfat that followed into later youth. Tiny hands, tiny legs, tiny feet. He moved a hand to his head and felt the hair there. It was long enough to curl around his ears, and it felt as greasy and unwashed as it had as an adult. He was covered in dirt and grime from his soak in the muddy alleyway and he was bruised up rather nicely from his fall.

Ahh. The concern. Of course. Even savage apes cared for their young, and finding an injured naked babe on its own would tug at most heartstrings. Loki had little problem harming children himself, although he was aware he was not overly paternal. Or maternal, depending on who he decided to be sometimes. He did not dislike children; quite the contrary. But neither did he have a moral code. In the past he had had children of his own; although he did not think that counted for much at all as it was a very long time ago and he had been a much younger God.

A much more foolish God.

As a shapeshifter, he felt comfortable in most forms. Man, woman, child, fox, cat, wolf, bird, fish, it did not matter to him. He was Loki and he was what he was... whatever that might be at the time. Being in the form of a child was hardly shocking. He had wanted to fit into the tunnel, and he had shrunk himself to fit into it. Some part of him had recognized the playground, even in the rain, and he had likely honed in on that thought.

The officer was speaking into a device, obviously one of the ones used for communication and he was calling for an ambulance. He knew what that was; a Midgardian healing vehicle. The chaos he had caused in his last encounter with The Avengers had required a great deal of them.

"Kiddo? Can you tell me what you are doing in there?" The man had stopped using his communication device and was looking back at him, pulling off his coat. Loki said nothing for a long moment, eyes guarded as he kept himself curled up. He was soaked still, and he supposed he should be cold. But the temperature did not affect him. It never had and it never would. He thought he should attempt a shiver for acting, but he was too drained to put in the effort.

"Sleeping." He finally said after a moment, his voice sounding childlike and very small. "I was sleeping."

"Sorry to wake you, son." The man was saying softly, reaching out. His face was calm enough, but there was such worry etched into the lines on his face. Humans were so, so easy to read. "Can you tell me your name, kiddo?"

Loki. His name was Loki. A God of Lies, of Mischief. A King without a throne or kingdom, a Jotun, a runt, a trickster, a silvertongue, a dagger... so many, many titles. For the moment, he was about to open his mouth, to speak the truth for once.

A thought occurred to him. A delightful, magnificent, rather brilliant little thought.

His magic was drained completely and it would take some time for it to return. Whatever he had used to transform into this, it was the last of his reserves. He was effectively trapped in this form for however long it took to regain his strength. But he was a child. Humans, he knew, protected their human offspring with a violent passion. Few things could stir protective instincts like a child in danger, and he was currently that child. A child of but four years of age, he guess, with large green eyes. Sparkling and innocent and so very pleading.

He was on the run, from both the Chitauri and from Asgard. They were expecting to find a weakened, helpless God of Lies. They would not find a helpless little child, hiding in human protection.

The idea was dissatisfying, truly. He lacked any other option other option. A child of his age wandering around would be noticed. He was naked and injured, a grave combination that would be picked up on almost immediately. He was defenseless from any that might try to harm him. He needed to hide, and he needed someone to keep him safe.

_Think of it like a servant, God of Lies. Think of it as playacting. You are their King. It is their job to protect their King._

Green eyes flicked to the inside of the play tunnel.

"Lucas." He said, pulling his tiny knees to his tiny chest and wrapping his tiny arms about them. "My name is Lucas."

* * *

**_Icelandic Translation:  
_  
**_'Bara heppni mína að ég ætti að enda á stað sem hatar mig' _  
'Just my luck that I should end in a place that hates me.'

Translations provided by Google Translate and may contain inaccuracies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** A Bird Without Feathers  
**Author:** ATG-4835  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters from Marvel. I am just borrowing them for the moment.  
**Author's Note:** A serious take on a semi De-aged Loki story. Takes place Post-Avengers and will be AU from future Marvel films. Explanation of the time between The Avengers and the time of this story's occurrence will be given as the story progresses. Rated T for potential language and violence.

* * *

In his youth (his true youth, not the mockery of his current situation), he had learned fast quickly how to act convincingly according to the situation. It was a trait he had picked up the first time he had gone to the amphitheater to watch his the first performance. The story hadn't been particularly complex, nor violent to the point of horror; a good show to bring learning children to. He had been only a small boy at the time, not even old enough to be separated from his False-Mother for long, and the performance had startled him and amazed him at the same time.

Large green eyes watched the men and women fight and battle, realizing halfway through that they were acting. It was only when he had turned and glanced at the audience around him, watched their faces of rapt attention, and saw a woman give a discreet sniffle at a particularly heroic death, that he realized the power of acting. Even knowing it was an act, the audience was moved and touched and energized from it.

Loki had turned back to watch the performance, but he had watched it with new eyes.

"I've got you, kiddo, come on." Hand were reaching into the blue plastic tunnel and touching his bare skin to gently tug him closer to the entrance. Instinctively, dislike physical contact, Loki pulled back. "Hey, hey now. It's going to be okay. My name's Nathan. I'm a Police Officer, do you know what that is?"

Of course Loki knew what that was, the plebian fool. He was a God. He had known this world before this mortal had even been a thought of the Norns.

"You protect people." It a strange thing to hear his voice so childlike. Little more than a toddler, really, and he could recall being this age long, long ago. A voice he had not heard in millennia. But as a shapeshifter, he was used to far stranger noises coming from his mouth. A fox, for instance, could scream so horrendously...

"That's right, son." The mortal, Nathan, he smiled so charmingly that it was sickening. It reminded him of Thor, of that ridiculous and airheaded grin he often had on his strong, useless face. The thought of his Not-Brother soured his stomach and his mood both. "I protect people. I just want to put this coat around you, okay? You must be pretty cold there..."

It wasn't cold.

Loki did not feel the cold until it was mentioned. The fact that he was at all was mildly startling; it seemed that his younger body was capable of it. He hadn't felt a chill for a long time. Not since had had discovered what had been hidden from him. Not since he had lost his family, his home, and his heritage all in the span of a few moments. Not since Jotunheimr.

The silence made that smile waver but Nathan the Police Officer kept it up, brown eyes crinkling in even deeper worry. The man was older, seemed to be a mortal of early forties, if Loki was any judge of age. Unfortunately, Humans had began to show age later and later in their years and he there was a chance he was off. It came with longer lifespans that they used to be ill-bred wasteful slobs. It was difficult to look old when you did nothing to weather you.

It revolted him.

"And I bet those hurt a little bit too. We'll get you fixed up, though, kiddo, okay? Just let's get you warmed up and safe and we'll see about getting you home."

_But you don't have a home, do you, little Godling? You're a shadow wandering around without a master, a King without a throne, a God without a worshipper. You are alone, more now than ever, and you have no one left. Your False-Brother did not understand you, your False-Mother supported a lie, and your False-Father played you like a man plays a tafl board. A pawn. You have no home left to return to. Hunted by all sides, haunted by yourself, you are truly, truly abandoned._

Loki bit his lip, eyebrows creasing and, after debating for a few seconds, he scooted forward. Hands burrowed beneath his arms gently and pulled him towards the entrance. He was lifted out from the tunnel into strong arms and held against a warm chest. Immediately, a coat, dry and comfortable from the man's body heat, was wrapped about his naked body, hiding the dirt and bruises along the thick folds of cloth.

Disgust at being held like a babe warred with mild relief at being in this position. A Police Office. A man designed to protect the public. Loki, to all intents and purposes, was part of that public, even if his accent gave him away as not originating here. He was a child, and society generally protected offspring.

"There now, that's better. Shhhh, Shhhh, I've got you now."

How _dare_ this mortal hush him in such a manner! He had not even opened his mouth, although it would serve Nathan the Police Officer right if he had. He should have said a spell that would turn the man into a termite. And Loki, using his tiny naked foot, would crush the insect beneath his heel without a further thought.

_"Hush, Sleipnir. Shhhh, shhhh. I'm here. It's going to be alright, we'll think of something. Shhhh, my little colt..."_

Words that had been his, long, long ago echoed about in his mind and Loki forced himself to relax. Anger at the command simmered beneath his skin, even as he realized it was not a command so much as it was supposed to be a reassurement. As if he would squall and fuss like an infant. Loki had thousands of years on this man and yet it was he who was being held so tenderly.

"The ambulance is going to be here in a minute, okay? Where's your mama or dada?"

He winced at the tone used. It was sickening, to be spoken to in such a manner. Who used such words for their parents? Did children not have respect for their elders? A child of Asgard would not have been caught dead disgracing themselves in such a way. 'I have killed thousands!' He wanted to say. 'I nearly enslaved your entire miserable, mongrel species and you dare wibble your tongue at me like I am beneath you?!' But he did not say it and the vibrations of rage he felt trembling his body seemed to be mistaken for shivers, for he was only held closer to the body.

He felt a murderous rage pull at him, just begging and _itching_ to strike out. There were ways he could kill a man without his magic. He was not so defenseless. His mind was sharp, even broken by madness as it was. He could use it as a weapon, use that silver tongue of his and get whatever it was that he wished for.

But then, this was a rather grand opportunity, wasn't it? Think of it like an act and it almost became amusing. He was a child, hardly more than a toddler in appearance, and this man was utterly at his whim. If he cried, every attempt would be made to soothe him. If he demanded, it would be given. If he became upset, it would be met with apologies. The idea of having humanity a slave to him was a very appealing one indeed.

Hmm...

He forced up some tears in his eyes and he curled a tiny little fist in the man's shirt, holding on gently but tightly. "I don't w-wanna be hurt!" Loki forced a whimper, looking up and meeting the man's eyes with his own brilliant green ones. He had done this exact look as a babe, to the Allfather himself. An infant was undeniable, and he had been told that the royals in the court thought him precious. Loki wondered, for a moment, what it was that they had been told about his birth. Frigga had known, of course, and Heimdall had to have known as well. But he supposed the court had to have been told he was an orphan of the war. Lives had been lost in the battle; no one would have questioned it.

And once Odin Allfather had said Loki was his son, no one would have ever spoken against it, not even to tell the babe of his adoption.

Adoption.

It was more like stealing really. Sometimes, he wondered if it would have been better for him to be left there to die, in the cold, frozen wastes of Jotunheimr.

Hands tightened around his body, holding him securely. The coat was wrapped about his shoulders tighter to provide more coverage. Loki stared up at Nathan the Police Officer, eyes glassy and large. Every bit the sweet innocence that only a child could manage.

_ Look deep into them, mortal, and know that if you allow me to come to harm, I shall lash out at you in any and every possible way that is in my power. The charge you bear is a Godling, and you shall obey it._

Without his magic, he could not mentally control the man, of course. But that did not stop the satisfaction from rising up when he was cradled gently. _  
_  
"Shhh, Shhh. No one's going to hurt you, Lucas, I promise no one's going to hurt you."

That tone again, warm and comforting, and Loki's head was moved to rest upon the man's shoulder. A wicked grin spread across his face for a brief instant, and he allowed himself to be held securely as sirens filled the air.

* * *

_"Do you think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm? There are passages between worlds to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind."_

Heimdall has told him of these words, of the truth to them. Loki knew what they did not. Passages, roads, tunnels. All of it lead from one realm to another, to another world trickling through the branches of Yggdrasil like rain. Like poison. A poisontongue, they called the Trickster, and it was an apt name for more than one reason. The God of Lies could craft tales like it were a gentle art rather than a weapon. He could drip into a wound of the soul and spirit and poison it to fester and rot at the core, too deep to remove.

He had not always had this gift. There had been a time, long ago, when he had been an innocent. A boy, so pure and sweet and small. How had things gone so very wrong? When he thought of Loki, he could still see that little boy in his mind, trailing after him like a chick trails after it's mother. Impressionable, fragile, and vulnerable.

What had happened to destroy this precious thing?

The man who had crushed tried to enslave Midgard, who had attempted genocide, who had committed patricide… that was not Loki.

That was not his brother.

Thor's arrival was heralded by a crash of thunder as the God landed with a deafening boom. The lightning flashed as the split in the world closed and deposited the Prince securely to the ground. The pavement about his feet was split, but he had gotten better at minimizing the damage. Starkson had complain when last he had broken his home with the arrival.

It was now that he found himself on Midgard, the realm of his friends, of his beloved Lady Jane. His heart longed to seek her out, to find her and speak with her, to kiss her hand, her neck, her lips. But he was not here for the pleasure of his Lady's company, nor was he here to laugh amongst friends. His purpose here was to find the stranger who had broken out of his cell and to take him back to face the full judgment of the Asgardian hall.

A stranger. How it hurt so to call Loki that. But the hurt of calling him brother was too much for his heart to stand. His soul was sick with the pain of betrayal and he could not bear to hurt it more.

Whoever this stranger was, it had eaten the goodness of his little brother and swallowed it down greedily, like a starving beast devouring its prey. The man who had escaped, who had left with not a word or a sound… that was not someone that Thor knew. Whatever face he wore, whatever his appearance might be, that wasn't the Loki he knew and loved

But not all hope was lost. He was so certain, with the entirety of his being, that his brother was in there somewhere. Deep down, perhaps, smothered by madness. Buried and trapped. If he could but speak with his Brother, perhaps he could have reached him. There had been time. A year of time to go and talk. But had not and it was too late now. Too see what the little boy he loved had grown into had been too much and Thor had only visited a mere handful of times in the beginning before thinking it futile and stopping completely.

A mistake, and he saw that now. It seemed that he always realized an error too late. Sometimes, he felt very stupid indeed.

He should have pushed. Perhaps just a little harder and Loki might have cracked. Thor could have broken the insane, crazed, murderer and rescued his brother from the rubble. He could have taken those broken pieces and put them together in a way that was whole and better and the man Loki should have been. He was lost, his little brother, somewhere deep beneath the swirling sea of madness. And maybe, just maybe, Thor could have rescued him from himself.

It was too late now and his sibling was lost physically as well. If he had known this stranger, perhaps it would have been easier to track him, to know of his plots and schemes. But the God of Lies was chaos by his very nature and Thor could not make sense of Loki's head any longer. To try invited that madness to trickle in like a disease.

He needed to find him.

And Thor needed help doing so.

Oddly, he felt conflicted at the thought of asking his mortal friends for assistance. He did not doubt their capability, he did not doubt their reliability either. Each of them were brave and strong and noble in their own ways. They were good people, and, mortal though they were, he loved them dearly as his close friends. Time on Midgard had taught him that human were stronger than they appeared, and working with The Avengers, had only enforced that lesson.

Why then, was he so hesitant in asking for their help?

Thor was a warrior. He was one of the best at his art, which was combat and bloodshed and fighting. He was the best in all of his lessons and had been since childhood. He was worthy of the power of Mjolnir, an accomplishment to be certain. He was bright and intelligent in his own way…. But he was not accustomed to second guessing his actions. Self-doubt was an emotion he was not well accustomed with. Emotional crisis were of women and those of soft heart. Thor, as a God, a man, and a warrior, had nothing of the sort.

He had always wondered why Loki would take offense at light joking, why he those green eyes would burn with betrayal or hurt or sadness when Thor teased him in good nature. It was a jest, nothing more. To be so offended at innocent humor was so very emotional that it had only served to feed into more laughter. The memory of his booming laughs as Loki stiffened up and went very quiet burned in his mind. He had thought it humorous that his Brother, a God known for his tricks and dignity, would allow so much emotion to show on his face.

But now, he could understand it.

Confliction. Hesitation. Torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. Between nature and knowledge. Loki, a Jotun trying to be an Asgardian, with no hope of ever fitting in. All those times he had seen that hurt, thin-lipped expression on his Brother's face were not so funny. He understood it now, even if only slightly.

He did not want to contact his friends, not because of them, but because of himself. Because he was torn between loyalty to them and loyalty to his Brother. They saw Loki as an enemy to be crushed. Just another madman trying to rule the world and play King They did not know of the innocence he'd once had, they had not seen those bright, mischievous smiles, and they had never heard that bubbly little laugh ring out, clear as a bell. Thor did, and he would never forget any of it.

He could debate it later, however. It was not so immediate that he needed to make a decision now.

For the first time since he had landed, he took in his surroundings. He stood in an alleyway, made of brick and cement and littered with trash. The ground was cracked about him and he strode forward, heedless of the rain. He was the God of Thunder, and it did not bother him. This area reeked of the sharp smell of ozone from Thor's arrival…. and something else. There was something beneath the trace of Bifrost, something woodsy and burning, tickling at the edge of his nose. Magic. This area was saturated with the sense of magic.

Thor may not know his Brother, but he had been around him for thousands of years. He would know this tingle in the air anywhere.

So Loki was here.

Or he had been recently, for the escaped prisoner was nowhere to be seen. It had been not immediately noticeable that he had escaped the God had a head start. Not for long, though. Thor bent to the ground, placing his hand against the wet and cold pavement. The magic tingled against his hand, raising the hair of his arm. So much of it here, concentrated so heavily. How much power had Loki used to come here?

_"Do you think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm? There are passages between worlds to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind."_

Passages. But at what cost? What toll had Loki paid to go through them and why had he not done so before? What had stirred his brother's determination so suddenly? There had been no logged visitors except the guards, but they had reported all was normal. There had been no signs of magic in cell, for magic was stolen there. How had he escaped and how had he gotten here? This was not the graceful elegance he normally used. When Loki cast magic in large quantities, he kept it hidden. He would not have left only to be tracked down like this. He would have wanted to assure that he could escape and remain free.

To leave and be caught hours later would be humiliating. Thor may not know well this stranger of a little brother, but he knew that humiliation was something he would never stand for.

This magic reeked of desperation.

Thor suddenly felt very afraid for his brother.

Oh Loki, what have you done?

Thor knew what he had to do now and he gripped Mjolnir with a renewed purpose. He needed to find Loki and soon. Because he worried that it was not himself Loki was running from. The Avengers needed to be alerted, and soon. He tightened his grasp on the leathered handle of the hammer, lifting and spinning it quickly.

An ambulance passed by the alleyway, followed by a police vehicle.

Thor ignored them both and threw the hammer, lifting himself into the skies.

* * *

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There were very few times when he felt irritated enough to wish to drop an act when it was in progress. He was a skilled performer; he had been fooling mortal and Gods alike for hundreds upon hundreds of years. He could safely claim, without a lie in his head, that he was possibly the best actor in all of creation. As a God of Lies, it was his nature to be contradictory. It was his nature to be fluid and versatile, to spin lies like a spider spun it's silk.

He was, after all, one giant lie himself. Born as lie, raised as a lie, fed lies. Acting had always been part of his life, even without him realizing it. A Jotun acting the roll of an Aesir. Perhaps it would be a play someday and all the Aesir children would flock to see the hated Silvertongue defeated again and again. Such a great laugh _that _would be.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Loki turned on his less-than-soft bed and let out a sigh, gritting his teeth at the slight beeping that echoed around in the room. Midgardian technology. It was irritating to him in ways that few things were and oh, but he longed to drop his act, reach out, and smash the machine to pieces. Why the humans had to chose such persistent and loud devices, he hadn't a clue. Everything had to blink or shine lights or beep or ring. How could they accomplish anything with all these distractions, he hadn't a clue.

Oh, but of course, they did not accomplish much of anything at all, which was why their culture was weak and inferior in almost every possible way.

Disgusting humans.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He scowled to himself and turned, flopping onto his belly. The bed he was in had short railings to prevent him from falling and he entertained himself with making patterns in the silver metal with his fingerprints.

The Pediatrics hospital, they had said, although they hadn't explained further. He hadn't a clue what the word meant. Apparently, he was too young to be given any sort of explanation of his surroundings for they hadn't answered his questions. He had attempted to ask the man in the ambulance, but he had only cooed and told him they were going to a 'Safe Place'. Please. As if anywhere on Midgard could be considered safe. The Humans and their inferior security. If he had had his power at the moment, he'd have broken their vehicle and their necks, simply to make a point. Nothing and nowhere was safe.

Loki flipped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Lucas?" A woman, with chestnut colored hair and blue eyes came around the curtain and smiled at him. He assumed she was a worker here, she had a metal nametag on her shirt that said 'Julie'. Her name, then, and he looked over at her questioningly. Nathan the Police Officer had left him in the care of Andrew the EMT, and now apparently it was to be Julie the Pediatrics Worker.

He was being handed to so many people and they wondered why the youth of their world were suffering from outbursts and rebellion. If this was how they treated their young, he could not blame the children.

"Who are you?" His tiny voice sounded oddly vulnerable to him and he shifted on the bed, sitting up and brushing his black hair from his eyes. His hair was long enough to curl beneath his ears with a bit of curl and he smoothed it back gently with his small hands. It was still greasy from being rained on and he wanted to grimace at the texture. Neither, however, did he want to bathe right now. He had the worst feeling that the mortals would try to assist and that would not do at all.

"My name's Julie, I'm from Child Protective Services."

Ahh. Now this was a women he wanted to speak to. He straightened and gave her a small smile. It felt uncomfortable on his face. How long had it been since he smiled in a way that felt natural? One that wasn't of malice or spite or bitterness? Far too long, but he was not called a Liesmith for nothing.

"Nice to meet you." His ducked his head, and attempted to appear shy and perhaps even a bit bashful. It was easier to manage a shy, silent persona than one that was sociable and talkative. People asked less questions, paid less attention when it was quiet. And he knew that shy children could be endearing and considered even sweeter than normal.

A gentle laugh and she moved over, taking a seat next to his bed and pulling out a pad of paper.

"Nice to meet you too." She said, clicking a writing utensil and jotting down a few notes. She looked him over and wrote for a second. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Lucas?"

"Luke. I go by Luke." He said, tapping his fingers on the covers. His fingers were so small and fragile, it was odd to think that the last time he had had these hands, they had been clean. Pure. Innocent. And now, even with them wiped clean of filth, he could feel the blood on them, dripping off. He was filthy from the sins of his crimes.

Loki wished he could feel bad about that.

But he didn't.

"Alright Luke." Another note on the pad of paper and he resisted the urge to try to read. "Do you know where your parents are?"

Loki had been planning this since he had arrived at the hospital and he gave her a wide-eyed look, shaking his head. He even forced up some tears into his eyes as he spoke. "Mama and Daddy left me." He said with a shuddery voice, rubbing a small fist into his eyes and puffing them up. He wished he was completely lying, but it was exactly as he had said. All liemasters learned to provide a hint of truth to their performance. It just so happened that he was speaking the entirety of on.

"Shh, it's okay." No it wasn't. Why did so many adults say that to him when they hadn't a clue about his circumstances. He supposed that to most children, it would have been a soothing thing. But his words had implied that his situation was anything but okay. "Do you remember their names, sweetheart?"

Frigga and Odin.

Laufey and the one who birthed him. Whether she had abandoned him or died, he did not know. Either way, she had left thought some means.

"Mama and Daddy." He said, giving her that innocent look as if he could not remember there being a different name for them. "That's their names. Daddy said he didn't want me anymore so he left me."

_"The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheimr that day, was it?"_

_"No. In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small for a Giant's offspring, abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son."_

Not Laufeyson, though. Abandoned and cast out, that name is no longer yours. You were never Odinson either, despite your centuries of belief. What are you then, Little Liesmith? Son of Nothing. Nothingson. No heritage, no home, no allies. How alone you are, Loki. How completely and utterly alone.

"Do you have any relatives? Aunt? Uncle? Family friends? Can you remember their names?"

He shook his head no. "Mama and Daddy were mean and people didn't like 'em." He explained seriously. "I don't know about family. They never said about it." It was difficult to mispronounce words, but only slightly. A four-year-old Midgardian that could speak as an adult was a curiosity, and he wished to avoid certain attention.

"Did your parents every hurt you, Luke?"

Loki flicked his eyes to the woman, blinking out of his daze. How captivity had ruined him to have him ignore his surroundings like this. It was pathetic and unworthy of a God to behave as he was.

_"You took me for a purpose. What was it?"_

_"TELL ME!"_

"Yes." Loki flicked his eyes to the bed. "Every day." She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he had one of his own. "What's gonna happen to me?"

"We're going to get you feeling a little better, okay sweetheart? We need to have you drink a lot of juice and eat a lot of food so that you get stronger. Then we'll find a place for you to stay. Maybe with other boys and girls, would you like that?"

He shrugged and stared at the bed. Suddenly, he felt very tired and irritable. By the Norns, how far he had fallen, and not only physically. He wished he was a child, a true one, for them he would not have to suffer through the humiliation. He had been a King, he had been in control of an entire realm, and for a brief moment, he had been acknowledged as Loki, instead of Loki, Brother to Thor, or Loki, Second Son of the Allfather.

The woman was asking him questions, her voice gentle but prodding. Exactly the kind of woman who should be in this position, although he no longer felt so inclined to speak with her. This was a ridiculous plan and it had never been more obvious than being in a healing chamber with other children and a Midgardian child officer. He felt out of place, just as much as he had on Asgard. Even more so, for now he knew he was not even a member of the same species.

This was a ridiculous, stupid plan, but it was the only one he had right now. He had nothing else, nowhere to turn, and he had run out of options. His form wouldn't require sustenance for some time, but what of clothing and shelter? Was he to sit in the streets, soaked and naked for weeks until Thor found him?

Or worse.

The Chitauri.

_"If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain."_

Loki shuddered, expression creasing. He didn't have a choice. He could not go back to Asgard… not after what had happened, not after the manner of his escape. It wasn't safe there for him any longer, although he had suspected it would be breeched eventually. He could not flee to the other realms; he had no friends and no acquaintances that would take him in. No doubt the news of his betrayal had spread all the way to Niflheim by now.

Asgard was not an option. The other realms of Yggdrasil were not an option. Where else had he to turn to but the anonymity of Midgard? It was not idea, but he had not a better plan. Not in this form and not without his magic. Thor would be coming for him soon, and the Chitauri would be scouting for him heavily after finding him alive.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, if he remembered the phrase right. On one hand, The Mad Titan would do worse than torture him. There would not be a word for what he experienced at his hand, and Loki wished to avoid that at any cost or expense. He did not care how many lives or innocents he had to dispose of along the way, he did not care what he had to do. He was, at the core of everything, selfish. Self-preservation was a trait he favored heavily.

On the other hand, however, he had Thor. The bumbling blonde fool with all his pleading looks and sorrowful sighs. The Mad Titan may wish to more-than-torture him, but Thor sought to heal him as if madness and deep-rooted sadism were simply a minor hurt. It was insulting.

_"We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"_

"_I remember a shadow, living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss, I who was and should be king!"_

"I'm sleepy." Loki mumbled, rolling into the covers and ignoring the woman. She smoothed his covers down and left, leaving him alone once more. Perhaps he would sleep; he knew he should keep up his strength as much as it was possible. He needed to plan

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He flicked his eyes open and glanced at the curtain that had been drawn around him. The beeping, insistent and loud, was coming from behind it. Smoothing down the papery tunic he had been given to wear, Loki awkwardly climbed from the bed, navigating over the rails. His bare feet hit the ground with a soft padding sound and he crept to the corner of the curtain, pulling it back.

A boy lay in the bed, only a few mortal years older than Loki's current form resembled. Sandy blond hair, pale skin, and seeming so tiny in the bed, hooked up to the machines around him. It seemed he had come in not long before Loki had; he was faintly covered in grime. The child was sleeping soundly, although there were tubes going into his throat and nostrils and likely more he couldn't see that were beneath the covers. The beeping came from a loud device and a green line pulsed on a screen.

It was a pathetic display and Loki moved over to the child, eyes flickering over him. The boy looked to be injured or ill, and having difficulty breathing on his own. Loki wondered, for only a moment, how it had happened. Sickness? Hurt? But he supposed it didn't matter much at all. The boy was little more than a an injured termite wasting away in its corner of the mound.

Such a short life, these little insects. How lucky they were; Loki envied them dearly for that. If they were betrayed, if they were hurt or injured or sick, they would have only a handful of years to suffer for it. Few humans ever even made it to one-hundred, and he thought his body was likely near that age.

A rage filled him, hot and burning beneath his cool skin. He had the urge, no, the _need_ to hurt something. Why should Humans, pathetic, disgusting, and miserable as they were, earn less torment. They lived their entire little lives surrounded thinking they had some sort of meaning. Fake religions, fake Gods, fake faith, and all of it for nothing. Yet here they were, ignorant and stupid and content with it! They were actually content with being nothing.

He hated them.

He _loathed_ them.

_You think your one God will come save you. You think that you have a meaning to your death. You are wrong, boy. All of you humans, your sickening, wasteful excuse of a species, is wrong. You are nothing, and nothing you do will ever matter to anyone or anything._

Loki took one of the tubes going into the boy's throat and tightly pinched it shut, blocking it. As he suspected, the boy on the bed weakly began to twitch slightly. Not awake, but it was the body's natural response to a lack of oxygen. The God of Lies stared at the boy blankly, head tilted. That rage began to subside the longer he held that tube shut. There was an increased beeping on the machine.

_No one is safe, child, and it that a difficult lesson to learn.  
_


End file.
